


If It Isn't Her

by obscurum



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-24
Updated: 2016-08-07
Packaged: 2018-07-26 08:41:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7567591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obscurum/pseuds/obscurum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the War Hermione puts a lot of Time and Effort into getting her life together, and after three years things are finally starting to settle; everything is exactly where she wants it. And then Pansy Parkinson shows up out of nowhere, with her Green hair and her sharp smile and turns everything upside-down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Green

**Everything was Green;** Her porcelain clawfoot tub, Her plush white towels in a pile at her feet, Her centuries old, white tile floors, Her neck, Her ears, Her hands. Pansy Parkinson gripped the sides of her pedestal sink and leaned in closer toward the mirror hanging above it. A thin smile pulled at the left corner of her lips. Her hair was more than _coloured_ green, it was _saturated._ Every hair on her head was a rich, deep, Slytherin Green.

Those gaggling, giggling, gossiping old twits at the Ministry would have a field day.

She turned the hot water tap and started to scrub the dye off of her fingers. Sure, she could have easily charmed her hair, and probably would once the dye faded, but there was just something so cathartic about getting her hands dirty. After her nail beds were clean she scrubbed her hairline, ears, and the back of her neck. When she finished with that she set a scouring charm to the tub and floor.

Wearing only a thin camisole and cotton underwear, she stepped onto her terrace where a small, iron chair and tiled table waited. She sat down, propping her feet on the railing and picked up the pack of Muggle cigarettes from the table. As she lit up, a small breeze cut through the stale summer air. She exhaled and couldn’t help but smile.


	2. Content

**Snoring was still not something Hermione was used to waking up to.** And the fact that it always seemed to wake her just moments before her alarm went off frustrated her more than the obnoxious volume. She hit a button on the alarm to stop it before it started and rolled over. Yes he snored, yes, it was terribly loud, and yes, it was inconvenient, but she still always smiled when she woke up to his face. She laid a hand on his cheek and ran a thumb over his eyebrow. He stirred a little before reaching his arm out to wrap it around her waist. She smiled wider and moved in closer to him.

“Ron,” she murmured after a few quiet moments. “Ron, I’ve _got_ to get up.” 

Ron’s response was to tighten his grip on her stomach, Hermione didn’t object. Before long, though, she knew she had to get out of bed. Ron groaned in protest as she slid out from under his arm and she just chuckled. “I really have to get ready, I’m already running a little late,” she said. He sighed and sat up. Hermione opened her wardrobe, grabbed the outfit she’d prepared the previous night, and headed toward the bathroom. 

Hermione spent a _tremendous_ amount of time trying to get her life back after the War and things were finally starting to fall into place. She’d successfully returned her parents’ memories, gone back to Hogwarts for her Seventh Year and earned top marks on all of her N.E.W.T.S, then secured a position with the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. She’d gotten her own apartment, much to Ron’s dismay, and was doing quite well for herself. As for her relationship with Ron, they were moving along just fine as well. Yes, everything was falling _exactly_ into place.

Except, of course, her regular morning routine. Ron had kept her in bed later than she’d have liked and she rushed herself perhaps more than she needed too. She entered the kitchen while putting in her earrings and was greeted with Ron sitting at the table.

“Made you a cup,” he said, pushing a steaming cup of tea towards her. He smiled at her and took a sip of his own tea as she sat down. The toaster behind them went off and Ron jumped, even though he was the one who put the toast in. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that,” he said and got up. Hermione took a sip of her tea and had to stop herself from making a face. She calmly set her cup down and forced the drink down her throat. Ron had put more than enough sugar in it for her tastes. She glanced at the clock on the wall and jumped up just as Ron sat down with a plate of toast. She wasn’t exactly late, but if she wanted to stop for a proper cup of tea she’d have to _pretend_ to be.

“I’m sorry! I’m later than I thought.” She grabbed a piece of toast from the plate and leaned over to kiss her boyfriend. He stood and followed her to the door. 

“What are the plans for tonight, then?” He asked, handing her her coat.

“Oh, I have a feeling I’ll be working super late tonight,” she replied, gathering up her briefcase and purse. “I’ve just got so much to do before the weekend. I’m _sorry_ \- ” 

Ron put his hands on her shoulders. “Hey, it’s okay. I need to go over the books at the Shoppe anyway. I’ll clean up here and see you tomorrow, okay?” Hermione nodded and he bent to kiss her nose. 

It was a four block walk from her flat to the nearest Ministry Phone Box, but a five block walk to the nearest cafe. With a sugarless tea in her hand she made for the red booth, charmed to stay off the Muggle’s radar. The Main Hall of the Ministry was, as always, crowded with witches and wizards making their way to their respective departments. During her first week at the Ministry she was a bit overwhelmed by it but it eventually became one of her favorite parts of the day and she would let the hustle and bustle of the room give her energy to help her get through the day. 

She’d made it about halfway to her elevator when she saw it; a spot of _Green,_ slithering and snaking its way through the crowds. She stopped in her tracks, confused as to why someone would have green hair. And more importantly, what did the higher ups think of it? Surely it wasn’t allowed in the Dress Code. She shook the thought out of her head and kept walking. It didn’t _matter_ , it was none of her business, and it was nothing she needed think anymore of.

 

 **“I just don’t understand why someone would want green hair!”** Hermione stabbed at her salad with her fork and Ginny sighed, already growing tired of the topic. She’d met her friend for lunch to catch up on their lives, not to talk about Green Hair. 

“I don’t know, Hermione. Why would someone want to date my brother? People are enigmas.” Hermione threw a cherry tomato at Ginny and the girls giggled. “How’s he doing by the way?” 

Hermione shrugged. “Good. I think he likes working with George better than being an Auror, less stress y’know?” Ginny nodded but Hermione felt like she was trying to tiptoe around a topic or question. “But that’s not what you wanted to talk about, is it?” 

Ginny sighed. “I just don’t see why you two aren’t _living together_. It doesn’t make any sense!”

“Ginny, I’ve _told_ you -”

“Yeah, yeah. You want Independence and Space; things that both Harry and I seem to have whilst _still_ living together but whatever.” Ginny looked down at her lunch, avoiding eye contact with Hermione.

Hermione didn’t respond, choosing to instead push her food around in her bowl. Ginny stayed quiet too, until Hermione spoke up again a few moments later. “I bet whoever it is gets reprimanded for that green hair.” Hermione smiled as Ginny let out an over-exaggerated groan. 

Hermione might have lied about being late, but she didn’t lie about working late. It was well past midnight when she finally left her office. The usually crowded hall was empty and her footsteps echoed off of the hollow walls. Logically, she knew she wasn’t the only one in the building. She knew that others worked as late as her, that there was a custodial staff, and that sometimes Aurors lingered to finish paperwork and do research, but it didn’t stop her from keeping an eye out for anything that might be out of place. She stopped when she passed the Unity Statue, which had long since replaced the disgusting Magic is Might one. She could have sworn she heard other footsteps. Her eyes darted around, searching for the source, but she saw nothing. As she settled her eyes back on her path, she caught a glimpse of Green for the second time that day. It only lasted for a few seconds though, and by the time she rounded the corner the person had vanished, as if into thin air. 

 

 **The next morning she woke to the sound of someone in her kitchen.** Wrapped in her favorite robe, she shuffled her slippered feet into the living room. She stopped short of the kitchen and just watched her tall, lanky, freckled, red-headed boyfriend fumble around her tiny kitchen while trying to make her breakfast. She tried to keep quiet but couldn’t hold in her laughter when he dropped a piece of soggy toast on the floor. Ron whipped around, his hands coated in egg and powdered sugar. She laughed harder. 

“I let myself in. I was _trying_ to make you breakfast in bed.” He was whining a little, somewhat upset that his surprise had been ruined. He turned to clean his hands off and she walked to the refrigerator. 

“I think it’ll be just as sweet at the table,” she started. “What are you making, anyway?” she asked, as she poured two glasses of orange juice. 

“Eggy-bread. Mum used to make it for me when I was a kid. It honestly didn’t look that hard, not that I remember anyway. But -” he motioned to the huge mess he’d created and Hermione chuckled. She wrapped her arms around his waist and peaked around at the counter. 

“You’re supposed to whisk the eggs and milk together, not dip separately.” 

Ron turned and kissed her on the head. “What would I do without you?” 

The french toast didn’t come out looking the best, but it tasted just fine. As they ate Hermione read the Daily Prophet while Ron skimmed over the inventory of the Joke Shoppe. Hermione finished the last interesting article, and set the paper down to look toward Ron. He was cutting his toast and taking bites without taking his eyes from the moving comic. Occasionally he would chuckle and have to wipe syrup off his chin. He was _messy_ , he was _loud_ , and he could be a little thick at times, but he was _hers_. She started to think about why she’d been putting off cohabitation, and then about how long she’d been living on her own. She wanted independence, and she’d had it for two years. She and Ron had moved slowly at first and gave their relationship the Appropriate amount of time to grow and now... _now_ it was time to take the next step. 

“Move in with me.”

Ron’s fork stopped halfway to his mouth and he looked at her. “What?”

“Move _in_ with me,” she repeated, this time a little more pointed. A smile spread across his face.

“Really?” Hermione nodded and he jumped up, pulling her out of her chair and wrapping his arms around her. She laughed as he put her down and held her at arm’s length. “W-when?”

“I - uh, today?” 

His smile grew. “Yeah?” She nodded and he kissed her forehead. “I’ll go...get my stuff!” He headed for the door but quickly backtracked. “Don’t touch the kitchen. I’ll clean it when I get back.” He kissed her again and was out of the door. 

Ron returned that afternoon to find neat little spaces cleared for all of his things. In the bedroom there were two empty drawers in the dresser, a cleared nightstand on his side of the bed, and a perfectly portioned out space in the closet. On the desk in the hall she'd emptied out a drawer for his ledgers and a holder for his quills. She'd even cleared off a spot on her bookshelf for him. And, _of course_ , she'd cleaned the kitchen. 

That night the two of them sat on the couch, enjoying each other's company in the home they now shared. Hermione looked around, looked up at him, and smiled. Everything was in its Place, everything was Just Right, and she was Content. 

 

 **Hermione sat at her desk, head in her hands, hands propped up on her elbows.** The lamps around her were burning low, and had she not been as exhausted and frustrated as she was, she might have chuckled at the fact that she was literally burning the midnight oil. But she'd had too many late nights in the office over the past week to even look for the humor in her situation, let alone find it. 

She sighed, and began to gather up the parchment on her desk; she knew there wasn't much more she could do. She cleaned up her desk and gathered her things before putting out the lamps and locking up her office. 

Her footsteps sounded around her in the empty hall she made her way to her regular phone booth, her eyes cast down at the floor for most of her walk. As she neared the red booth she finally looked up only catch a glimpse of Green pass her by. 

She turned on her heels, her attention following the head of Green as it crossed the hall. Behind her, the booth slid down into position but instead of turning and opening the door she found herself stepping away from it and calling out. 

“Hey!” The word escaped her mouth and she winched, it was louder than she'd intended and it bounced off of the marble walls. She didn't quite know why she’d called out, why it even mattered to her to say _anything_ to this person, to find out who it was, or why she felt so nervous the second she'd said anything. 

The Green stopped moving and quickly turned around. Hermione finally a face to the head of Green that had hovered in the back of her mind for the past week, but it was nothing like she expected; sharp cheekbones, hard eyes, and snub nose, but it's most surprising feature was that it was _familiar_. 

“Pansy?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks so much for the comments and kudos so far! please feel free to continue to leave them! chapter two will be up in the next week or two :)


	3. P

**Pansy prided herself on few things.**

One was her Style. Her Pureblood heritage and upbringing equipped her with an innate taste for the little luxuries of life, while her rebellious streak gave her a love of all things modern Muggle high fashion and design. Even as she stood in the empty hall of the Ministry, dressed down for work, her Italian leather pumps, high-waisted and pressed black slacks, grey silk blouse, and tailored trench coat were miles ahead of Granger’s obviously off-the-rack, beige cloak and tweed skirt. 

Her Resilience was another one. It pulled her through the highly scrutinized years of private primary tutors while overeducated and under-paid witches studied her closely for any signs of Deficiency. It carried her through Hogwarts, as her fellow housemates watched with baited breath, waiting, hoping, for her to slip up, to make a mistake so they could have something to gossip about. It drug her through the war, kept her going, kept her safe, and more importantly, sane. It pushed her back to school for her Seventh Year, to Durmstrang where looks she got weren't as hard and the whispers not as sharp. It got her through the rigorous application process for her position in the Ministry, and helped her to rise quickly in her field to where she was now. 

But the thing she took the most pride in was her shrewd sense of Observation. She could recall the most minute detail of a scene at a moment's notice, remember a passing face months after the fact, listen in to multiple conversations going on around her, and read a room before she even crossed it. It was a skill a lifetime in the making, and one that her position in the Ministry only continued to sharpen. 

So the disappointment she felt when she sped right past the only other person in the hall without even noticing sank deep into her stomach. It sank even lower when she turned on her heels to see the round face and mass of hair that was Hermione Granger, someone she should have noticed in a sea of faces. 

She kept her shock hidden much better than Hermione did, immediately scoffing and rolling her eyes, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. As she turned her back to her old high school foe, she heard her take a few steps closer. Pansy took wider strides, so as to quicken her pace without appearing like she was, and all but slid into the proper fireplace. A flash of Green engulfed her and in moments she was in her living room. 

She huffed as she pulled off her coat and slammed it on the armchair near the window before walking into the kitchen, her heels striking hard on the dark parquet floors. Cabinet doors slammed behind her as she pulled out a short glass from one and a bottle of gin from another. She shot her first glass to the back of her throat, then poured another and set a cooling charm to it as she headed back to the living room. She kicked off her shoes as she fell onto the cream colored camelback loveseat that served as the anchor piece in her small living room and set her drink on to the small coffee table in front of her.

Was she losing her edge? Losing her touch? She scoffed at herself, the noise falling dead in her empty apartment. “Like that would happen,” she mumbled. 

A flash of grey streaked from her bedroom and to the kitchen. “Ellie,” she called, following it up with a few clicks of her tongue. Within moments a tiny grey cat came trotting into the living room, rubbing her head on the coffee table just as Pansy picks her up.

“Momma’s not losing her touch, is she? She’s just tired, huh.” Pansy reached over the cat in her lap for her drink and sighed into the class. She was tired. She was so close to a breakthrough in her current case that she’d been forgoing sleep and food just to reach it. Ellie purred in her lap as she finished her drink and stood, taking the cat with her to the bedroom.

 **The next morning Pansy wound her way through the front hall of the Ministry,** acutely aware of prickle running the length of her spine as a pair of big, brown eyes searched the floor for her. She could see Hermione out of the corner of her eye, see Hermione as she kept trying to appear normal while still looking around for any sign of Pansy. Pansy adjusted the silk scarf she wore around her head and tucked back a stray bit of Green hair before slipping behind a door nearly completely hidden in the tile work of wall.

“She’s covered up that hair of hers,” mumbled one Witch to another as she walked by. They were both older women, who should have long since grown out of idle gossip, but simple minds will always fall back to simple things. 

“Finally found some shame in that cold heart of hers,” responded the other witch. Pansy stopped in front of their desks and smiled as she took off her designer sunglasses.

“Francis, why don’t you make yourself useful for once and dispose of this for me,” she said as she pulled at the knot in the scarf and slid the silk off of her head. She’d had the scarf tailor made for her years ago, and it was charmed to change between multiple patterns at the user’s will. She loved it, but she would order a new. “It’s much too old for my tastes,” she added, dropping the expensive garment on to the desk as though it were a used tissue. With a smirk on her face and her head held high, she walked off, further down the hall and towards her office. Behind her she heard the scrape of Frances’ wooden desk drawer as it slid open so that she could no doubt keep the scarf for herself. Pansy chuckled to herself, knowing how terribly low it must feel to not be above taking scraps from those you consistently condemn.

Her office was dark and cold, and reminded her slightly of her old Slytherin dormitory. In the far left corner stood a heavy, carved potions table that she used far more often than her actual desk, which was scattered with parchment and books on the other end of the room. Next to the potions table was a tall, locked cabinet full of ingredients; a lot of which were rare and dangerous, a few of which were illegal in any other hands. Pansy untied and shrugged off her coat and hung it on the hook next to the door, then pulled her hair back into a knob of a ponytail as she made her way to the desk. She had some research to do, and then some experimenting.

 **She hadn’t intended to stay late.** In fact her plan was to do the exact opposite, to leave just a few minutes before everyone else so as to avoid that obscenely freckled nose Granger insisted on putting where it didn’t belong. However, by the time she thought to look at the clock on the wall it was already nearing ten pm and she was nearing a breakthrough. 

“Damn,” she cursed under her breath, looking over to her simmering cauldron to check the color of its contents. Three more minutes and it should be a bright, icy blue. As she waited she began to clean her workstation; taking meticulous care with all of her ingredients and making sure to set a cleaning charm to every surface. The potion steamed as it changed and cooled and once it settled at its natural stopping point she cast a suspension charm over it and locked it away in her cabinet with the rest of her things. With any luck she could finish it tomorrow and it would actually work. With any thing of a sensitive subject tightly locked away, 

Pansy gathered a few key scrolls of parchment from her desk and tucked them into her bag, then pulled on her coat and made sure the tie was secured around her waist before leaving and locking up her office. When she reached the end of her hall she pulled her shoulders back, held her head high, and took a deep breath before stepping out. 

As she walked through the Atrium of the Ministry it seemed as though all of that posturing was for naught as there was only one other person there; a wizard controlling four different mops and a cluster of dusters near the Unity Statue. Pansy paused a moment and turned towards the statue. 

She'd never really given it a good look, let alone much thought. Passing it in the mornings gave her a pang of guilt, or it would, if she allowed herself any time to feel such things, so stopping to study it was never an option. But there, late into the night with her hands in her coat pockets, she found herself slowly walking toward it. 

To say it was massive would be an understatement. The base was a large circle, more than four meters in diameter and at least two meters high. It was white marble, flecked with gold and silver, and engraved around it in a fanciful script were the Names of all those lost in the War. 

Standing around the edge of the base, carved out of solid marble, were most manner of magical folk and creature. Toward what could be considered the front, or at least the side that faced the length of the Main Hall, were two witches and a wizard, standing shoulder to shoulder with their wands held high and their gazes toward the ceiling. They were there to represent Purebloods, Half-Bloods, and Muggleborns, though there was nothing to indicate who was which, so as to emphasize that blood statuses truely didn't matter. 

Filling out the rest of the circle around them were centaurs, ghosts, a few mermaids, vampires, veelas, and even a giant. There were smaller beings at their feet like house-elves and goblins, all banded together, looking out into their new United future with bravery and hope. 

“‘ats a fine sculpture,” said a low and gravelly voice. It was the maintenance worker, his mops and dusters working furiously behind him. 

Pansy made small sound of agreement, the only indication she’d heard him at all. 

“S’a bit insultin’ though, innit? Puttin’ everyone's names on there, even thems who were on his side.”

Her heart dropped and her breath caught in her throat. She straightened her spine and pulled her shoulders back. “Yes,” she said, quiet and short. “Is it possible you have cleaning to do elsewhere?” It was a question, even if it didn't sound like one. 

The wizard gave her a glare, but walked off just the same, his band of dusters and mops following obediently behind him. 

Her heels clicked on the shining floor as she neared the base and drew her wand from inside her coat. She cast a small Lumos charm and began to scan the names. It became increasingly harder to fight the stinging behind her eyes or the burning in the back of her throat. 

Halfway around the statue she found a boxed in section where the script grew smaller and changed into a plain font. 

She inhaled sharply as she found the name she was looking for, and a tear slipped from her eye as her fingers grazed the letters. 

_Patrece Parkinson_

Her father. 

Another tear rolled down her cheek and she took a deep breath. She stood, wiped her cheeks, and straightened her coat. She took in her surroundings, relieved that the maintenance wizard had actually left and grateful that she was truly the only one in the hall. She even almost forgot that she was keeping an eye out for Granger, almost. 

**The next three days were quite unnerving.** Every morning she could feel Granger looking out for her, could see her amidst the bustling morning crowd trying to blend in; and every night she took extra precautions to avoid running into her, keeping an ever-watchful eye out on the way her with to the proper fireplace. 

It was Exhausting, and she wished Granger could just drop it and forget about her. Pansy wanted nothing more than to return to her life of Obscurity, to be able to work without worrying about some pesky, know-it-all digging for answers to questions she didn’t want to be asked. But if there was one thing Pansy remembered about Hermione Granger from school, it was that she was Stubborn and Relentless. Well, that and she helped to save the wizarding world, but who cared about _that_?

So, after four days of hiding her hair and timing her exits, Pansy pulled her stationery box from her top desk drawer. In it were heavy grade, neatly trimmed, perfectly folded cards of ivory parchment, matching envelopes, a deep, rich, onyx ink in a cut crystal ink pot, emerald Green wax flecked with particles of silver, and a large, golden quill. She cleared off the center of her desk and, with great precision, began to write. After the ink dried, she carefully folded the card and slid it into its envelope, then sealed it a solid seal. Right as the wax cooled, but before it solidified, she pressed her forefinger to her lips, then gently into the wax, and smirked. 

****

\--- --- ---

**Hermione, back from a quick lunch with Harry, tapped her wand to her office doorknob and unlocked the door.** She dropped her empty lunch bag in the chair by the door and rounded her desk, taking a deep breath before sitting down and preparing to get back to work. She reached for the parchment she’d left off with, but stopped when she noticed a white envelope, nearly shining amongst the yellow and tattered scrolls on her desk. Wary, she plucked it off of her desk and turned it over, a hint of who it might be from striking her as she saw the Green seal. Biting her lip, she broke the seal and slid out an equally stark card of parchment. Her mouth dried as she read the neat, elegant cursive:

_Beaufort Bar. 9  
P_

**Author's Note:**

> this is more of a prologue, chapter one to post soon :)


End file.
